


Riposte

by Unpretty



Series: Whispered Secrets and Neathy Delights [2]
Category: Fallen London | Echo Bazaar
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 03:57:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6499849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unpretty/pseuds/Unpretty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Detective work can be terribly boring when murders never stick. There are probably safer hobbies than leading on devils, but what would be the fun in that?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Riposte

There was a devil watching her from the shadows. 

Genevieve knew that he was. He wasn't being subtle about it. He wanted her to know, and wanted to know that she knew. 

So she was ignoring him. 

She was trading whispers for rumors, silk for secrets; a wealthy girl had run off, and her parents were all aflutter about it. It wasn't a particularly original predicament. She'd grown very good at finding wayward girls. 

They weren't the kinds of mysteries she'd hoped for when she became a detective, but it paid the bills. 

The devil continued to trail her through the Echo Bazaar. 

Genevieve was very familiar with the Affectionate Devil. Too familiar. Not familiar enough. Not a threat to her, not really. There were rules for how these things were done, and the Affectionate Devil was nothing if not polite. 

She hummed thoughtfully as she took a turn into a dark alley. It was already occupied, but that was no matter.

"I've always admired the way you handle a knife," the Affectionate Devil said as he joined her in the dark. 

"Have you?" she asked, feigning surprise. She took her time putting it away, lifting her skirt and her petticoats to tuck it into her garter. The devil watched her, a gleam in his eye.

The gleam was meaningless. His eyes usually gleamed. He was a devil, after all. 

She stood and let her skirts fall, adjusting her hair to be sure no pale waves had gone astray. "Always," the devil said. "Have I not told you?" 

"Maybe you have," she said. "I may have misinterpreted." He ambled nearer, and she affected disinterest. 

"You still ought to be more careful," he warned. "You're more clever than strong, you know, and stronger than wise. You could get hurt, a girl like you in places like these."

Standing close, too close, but she stood her ground. She could smell woodsmoke and brimstone. "But you'd never hurt me," she said, all sweetness.

"Not unless you asked," he agreed, and she delighted in the way his eyes raked over her, the most scandalously forward appraisal. They lingered on the neckline of her dress, where her corset had pushed things into interesting configurations. "I'm told Jack-of-Smiles is not so kind."

"I can handle myself," she assured him.

"Could you handle me?" he wondered. 

"Oh, gladly," she said, unable to stop the upward curl of her mouth. He leaned closer, and she held her breath as his face came near to hers.

She'd developed such a terrible weakness for those eyes, all full of hellfire. A few stray curls of dark hair fell carelessly over his forehead, having escaped the rakish tilt of his hat. He never took it off, that hat, and she wished he'd let her see. She was sure he was hiding a fetching set of horns.

"Then why," he wondered, "have you not been receiving me?"

It would be so easy to just lean forward and steal a kiss. Devil's fangs were more a temptation than a deterrent. "That doesn't sound like me," she said. "You know I'm always open to receiving you."

"So you've said." He was still so very close. "Isn't it strange, Miss Seacole, how I always seem to fall out of your favor right as I am planning to see you at home?" 

"It sounds a terrible coincidence," Genevieve said. "Home is where I'd most like to be seen by you."

"Tell me, detective," he said, tilting his head so he could move yet closer, mere centimeters between them, his mouth at her ear. "What would you do if I made you a serious offer?" Her heart nearly stopped. "Here, now. Maybe I should."

"You couldn't possibly," she said, as scornful as she could manage. "It's hardly the done thing."

"Perhaps I tire of playing with you," he suggested.

"I can't imagine how, when you've hardly played with me at all. What a dreadful lack of stamina you suffer."

The Affectionate Devil put one hand on her hip, used his other to claim hers; she caught what he was doing, put a hand on his shoulder so he could lead her in a waltz. "How long has it been, Miss Seacole?" 

"You'll need to be more specific," she chided, allowing him to twirl her about in an alley in the dark. She regretted immensely the gloves, but she would never be so forward as to say so. 

"The first time I took you to dinner, let's say." Though they'd exchanged letters far longer, another game that she'd played. Wordplay and innuendo, putting off as long as possible that first meeting. 

She liked to take her time. She hated for things to be over. And she knew very well how the devils of the Neath operated. 

"It's so hard to keep track," she sighed. "They say time flies, you know, with leathery wings."

The twirling came to an end as her back came to a wall, as she'd always known it would. His hand continued to hold hers. "Two years," he said. "It's been two years."

That fire in his eyes, and there was a hunger there he did not bother trying to hide. Usually she caught it in glimpses, in reflections. She knew the hunger was for her soul. It still thrilled her to pretend it was for her flesh.

"That long?" she asked. 

"That long." She said nothing, and for a moment they were silent, only the sound of her breathing as he held her against the wall. "You can always offer yourself to me, you know."

"Oh, but I'm very sure that I _have_ ," she said, "in all _sorts_ of interesting ways."

"I mean your soul, Miss Seacole. Or will you admit you don't intend me to have it?" 

"I haven't decided," she sighed, lackadaisical in ways not suited to her current position. "I worry it would leave me feeling empty, and you've offered me nothing to fill the void."

"Haven't I?" She had not thought that he could be any closer to her, and yet he was. The heat of hellfire was finally touching her through her gloves. "I can only do so much, when you haven't any void yet for me to fill."

"I'm sure you could find a void or two, if you tried," she said with a flutter of her lashes. "Maybe three, if you were very good at being bad."

"I'm the best," he said, the slightest hint of affront that she would even suggest otherwise. "But it is a matter of _space_ , isn't it? I think that a soul might be just big enough to make room for me."

Oh, he _was_ good. She felt that one, struck true enough to almost coax a girlish giggle from her. She resisted, but barely. "You're hardly the first to have told me such a thing," she said, "but I am typically delivered far less than I have paid for."

"They were miserly, then, but my generosity is well-known. I prefer to give more than can be taken."

"My cup runneth over."

"That is the goal, yes." His hand had wandered away from her hip, running fingers along her dress such that he could feel the boning in her corset. It was really very frustrating, when it remained lower than she would have preferred. 

"I would really rather that you offer for me properly," she said. "Is my soul not worth it to you?" 

"Your soul is a trifle, and you'll miss it not at all."

"You trifle with me," she accused. 

His answer was to kiss her, which was not a refutation at all. Not that she was complaining. His mouth was hot and he tasted like honey, and if she had not known better she might have wondered how many tongues he actually possessed. When she moaned into his mouth he took it as a victory, pulled away to kiss a line down the column of her throat. It would be so easy to steal his hat away, but she didn't want to ruin the moment. All that hellfire, but in the dark it could feel like the memory of sunlight. Sharp teeth grazed the upper curve of her breast, and she gasped despite herself for all the want it filled her with. 

"You're sure, Genie, that you don't want to be mine?" he asked against her skin, too much and not enough by half. 

"I don't think I'm insensible enough yet to give you the answer you want," she said, breathless. 

"Any answer would be better than none," he said, and all at once he let her go, the warmth lost to the cold night air of London. He tilted her chin upward so that she met his gaze, those gleaming eyes. Her hunger very likely matched his. "If you're going to be a tease, it's only fair that I return the favor."

It was tempting, so very tempting, to have him finish what he'd started. Would she really miss her soul? But, no; once he had what he wanted he'd be done with her, and his pretense of courting her would be through. 

"How lucky for me, that you are not the only one to owe favors." Which was true, of course. Genevieve had no shortage of admirers, men and women and none of the above. She could call any one of them, if she wanted; she'd done it before, would do it again. 

"True." The Affectionate Devil stepped away, the distance and loss of his touch leaving her awfully bereft. "I am, however, the best." Cocky, but she couldn't blame him for that. One need only look at the lengths she went to in order to maintain a fake courtship. He tipped his hat, a fanged smile and a hint of a bow. "Be seeing you, Miss Seacole."

She watched him go, adjusted her dress and tried not to think about his mouth along her throat. He didn't really want her, rationally she knew that he didn't. It was still hard not to hope that he'd give in before she did. Surely one didn't get to be an Affectionate Devil without having _some_ appreciation for the pleasures of the flesh. 

Genevieve sighed. She was getting better at interpreting infernal contracts. Perhaps, eventually, she'd be so good as to write up one of her own. 

She'd much more gladly give up her soul if it meant she got to keep him.


End file.
